


bite and scratch and scream all night

by Laylah



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sgrub Session, Black Romance, F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-10
Updated: 2012-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don't like him. That's not a new feeling! You've not-liked plenty of trolls over the sweeps. But usually you fight them or you ignore them and that's all, it's over. You don't sit there dwelling on how much you don't like them, rolling the feeling around like a ball of string that somehow comes all undone and leaves you tail-over-paws tangled up in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bite and scratch and scream all night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wallwalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallwalker/gifts).



> For one of Wally's Fandom Snowflake wishlist requests, asking for Nepeta blackrom:  
> "I don't honestly care who she's with as long as it isn't someone she's already in a red quadrant with in canon (although I admit that I think Nepeta/Eridan might make for interesting black romance.) Yes, she makes an adorable, cuddly little pouncebeast, but I'd love to see something about the other side of being a pouncebeast at heart - the fierce and unpredictable bites and scratches, the moments when they stalk away from you and completely ignore you, the times when they show up full of contempt at your doorstep with fresh kills to show you that they're better at killing than you."

Your name is Nepeta Leijon. You are seven and a half sweeps old, you have _so many feelings_ , and no one understands.

That is perhaps not exactly true. It is what you tell yourself when you are all tangled up in the knots of how difficult this is, that's all. Your moirail probably understands. You can tell by the unhappy way he bares his teeth when you tell him you're going to sign off Trollian and leave your cave again. He knows why you're going out there. He doesn't approve, but then, he has never approved of anything in the sweeps that you've known him—your pity for him is all curled up in how awful it must be to feel like that constantly, disapproving of yourself and your peers and everything you look at. You have learned to distinguish the different ways he disapproves of things, the ones he insists you refrain from for your own good and the ones he just makes faces about.

When he just makes faces, like now, it means he doesn't like what you're doing but he doesn't really think you need to stop. It's almost like encouragement, by Equius's standards. "Should he toy with your feelings," Equius tells you solemnly, the one time you actually talk about it, "I will break him in half with no romantic intent whatsoever."

"Silly," you tell him. "Kitties don't get toyed with. Kitties _do_ the toying." Then you go out to hunt.

The truth is you don't even _know_ what stupid stuck-up Eridan Ampora is doing to your feelings, just that it's _weird_ and you can't leave it alone. You don't like him. That's not a new feeling! You've not-liked plenty of trolls over the sweeps. But usually you fight them or you ignore them and that's all, it's over. You don't sit there dwelling on how much you don't like them, rolling the feeling around like a ball of string that somehow comes all undone and leaves you tail-over-paws tangled up in it.

But you're thinking about Eridan a lot lately, fussy distracting thoughts. You go out hunting and you bring down hulkbeasts, outrageous, oversized things: you leave them dumped on the deck of his stupid boat, already torn open to show off the tastiest bits in the middle, because even with his gun he's not as good at hunting as you are with your claws, and you want him to know it. On nights when you stay in, he trolls you to be whiny and ungrateful about your presents. You listen to Trollian's _ping, ping, ping_ as he sends you messages and you don't tab away from your drawing program. The noise of him wanting your attention makes all your messy feelings warm and satisfied.

\-- caligulasAquarium [CA] began trolling arsenicCatnip [AC] \--  
CA: nep seriously  
CA: wwhat's goin on wwith the dead animals  
CA: i spent hours last night swwabbin the deck  
CA: literally, thats not a euphemism for anyfin  
CA: tryin to get that things blood outta the boards  
CA: so i gotta ask  
CA: wwhat the fuck  
CA: is this some kinda feral roemance thing  
CA: i could be dowwn wwith that  
CA: but you gotta wwork wwith me here  
CA: nep  
CA: come on  
CA: youre not evven idle  
CA: talk to me  
CA: nepeta

 _Is_ this a romance thing? Two sweeps ago, even one sweep ago, you were pretty sure you didn't want anything to do with black romance ever, never ever, because ick, who would want to have somebody they hated who just wouldn't go away? But now you imagine someone else bothering Eridan, showing him up, demanding his attention, and the idea makes you just hiss. You don't like him at all, and you want him to _stay right there_ and not like you back. With feeling.

For all his yowling about your presents, he still keeps his ship tied up conveniently near your cave. It's practically an invitation.

You don't hurry to take him up on it. You have _any number_ of better things to do, except for the part where you're kind of squirmy and impatient and thinking about other people's quadrants is suddenly less exciting when you're sneaking up on the possibility of filling a new one for yourself. So maybe you mean to leave him waiting a bit longer than you actually do.

His ship is probably pretty nice, you guess. You don't know anything about boats. But you know he's been hanging out here, as if he's waiting for you, as if he's trying to figure you out. The idea makes you mad—as if that stupid fishbrain _could_ figure you out!—but it's...different. You get mad at Equius all the time for trying to boss you around, and that never makes you feel shivery and hungry and like you could crawl right out of your skin just for the chance to take a bite out of him.

You land on the deck of the ship as lightly as you can, and it only sways under you a little. It smells sharp and tingly, like Eridan really did spend a lot of time scrubbing off the traces of your kill. Ungrateful jerk. You'll have to get him something grosser next time.

The door to the shiphive is closed but not locked, so you open it and let yourself in. You're sneaking. You sneak better than just about anyone. You're not sure what you'll do when you find him—you sneak a lot better than you plan—but you'll figure something out.

It sure is creepy inside. Everything is all kind of too-fancy and decorated with the squiggle of his sign, and it's _dark_. You can see in the dark just fine, even if you don't need it quite as much as trolls up at the way fancy end of the spectrum. Maybe he keeps it this dark to make up for the fact that everything in his shiphive would probably glitter if there were any light anywhere. He is _so dumb_ you can't stand it. Maybe you should take some of his stuff. Maybe you should find his recuperacoon and dump a bunch of his stupid shiny things in it.

The blast of light over your head makes you jump, and if you had a real tail it would be puffed out as big as it went, and then you're diving for cover under a frilly stupid chair while broken trinkets chime and clatter to the floor. "Noww you wwanna gimme the time a night?"

As you blink the afterimages out of your vision you can see him standing in the doorway, lowering his big ugly rifle. The air smells sharp and burning with it. "Cheater," you growl, low in the back of your throat. You want to strangle him with his dumb scarf. You want to chew his stupid fins off. You want to drag him back to your cave and do things to him that you still don't like the words for.

Eridan shrugs. He leans the gun up against the wall next to him, like he doesn't need it now that he's spooked you jangly with it the first time. "You wwanna go bare clawws, huh?" he says. "Make it a fuckin brawwl?" He puffs air like he's annoyed with you. "Don't see wwhy wwe gotta do this all on your terms, Nep. Maybe I'd like a little huntin here an there."

That's _it_. You launch yourself at him from under the chair and you can see him tense like he's bracing for you, but duh, you've practiced your pouncing on _Equius_ and you know how to knock a troll down. "You're dumb," you tell him as he hits the floor under you. "You're stupid and you talk too much and I hunt _better_ than you, purrvert." Your claws knead in the front of his shirt and he smells delicious.

He does a writhy flippy thing that you didn't expect and then he's rolling you over, trying to grab at your wrists. He's all tense muscle between your thighs. "Your swweet talk could use a little work," he says. He grinds down against you and all your nerves light up at once, crackly furious black. "You flirt like a fuckin wwiggler."

You wrench one hand out of his grip and grab his floofy fancy hair, yanking hard. He yowls like a mewbeast and that's _before_ you bite him.

Eridan thrashes and you hook your ankles around his shins to keep him right there, and it takes a few seconds before you realize that you aren't going for the kill even though the big veins of his neck are right there in easy reach. Even though you can taste his blood now and he tastes even better than he smells, salty and rich.

"Crazy fuckin feral—" he breaks off in the middle of calling you names and rakes his claws down your back, hard enough to really sting. You let go of his throat and snap at one of his fins, catching it between your teeth and tugging. "Cod, Nep, I hate you," he says, and he sounds like admitting it hurts. Good.

"I hate you back," you tell him, and everything inside you—everything about both of you—feels tense and wound-up and hot. "You're pawful, just pawful!" You sink your teeth into his hand when he tries to grab your hair. He croons and growls and slams your head against the floor, and you headbutt him right in his stupid nose, and every little pain is making pleasure pulse between your legs in waves. You want to tear him apart and taste his insides. You want to keep him angry with you all the time. You want to never stop feeling so giddy, so _thrumming_ with this extra-alive feeling like you're winning a game and bringing down prey and like you're just the _best_ , and you hate Eridan Ampora so much and you're so thrilled that hating him feels like this.

Then all at once it's not fun anymore and instead you just feel too sensitive and uncomfortable, and instead of trying to take Eridan apart you start trying to get away. "Wwhat the fuck," he complains, still grabbing at you for a second, and then he coughs and you punch him in the gills and he lets go. You rocket to the far end of the hallway and stop there, wide-eyed, staring at him. He might want to come after you again. Still. Whatever.

"Pretty fuckin intense," he says, his voice all raw like you've been making him scream. "Uh...."

He doesn't know what he's doing either, you realize. He talks big but he's new at this, too. "Don't come after me," you tell him, and abscond before he can get up.

He doesn't come after you. You decide after a little thinking about it that you're glad. You want a little time to get used to the idea. You hate Eridan Ampora. You're still sort of fascinated with yourself when you get back to your cave and Pounce holds you down to start grooming the torn-up mess of your face and your back and everything he got his claws into. You hate Eridan Ampora, and it makes you feel good and happy and alive to think about it.

You guess it's time to update your shipping wall.

\-- caligulasAquarium [CA] began trolling arsenicCatnip [AC] \--  
CA: just wwanted to say  
CA: im gonna be droppin anchor nearby your cave end a this perigee  
CA: dont come by  
CA: and dont leavve any gross shit on my deck  
AC: :33< *the mischievous pouncebeast twitches her whiskers in amewsement*  
AC: :33< just try and stop me!  
CA: <3<  
AC: <3<


End file.
